A/N: This is the third and final installment of my trilogy. I took a hiatus to sort out all of my ideas, and now that I have a pretty clear image of how I want this story to end, I'm ready to put it down in words for all you lovely people. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding.

WARNING: This story will contain drug and alcohol abuse, sexual content, mentions of rape, mentions of severe child abuse, graphic depictions of torture, excessive use of expletives, racial slurs, homophobia, and disrespectful attitudes toward Christianity. I sincerely apologize to those of you who may be offended, but you have been warned.

Prologue

"Uhh…"

The girl behind the counter tapped her foot impatiently. It was busy today. Busier than usual, which was to say a lot considering the boost in tourism that Autumn Woods had seen over the past year. The barista didn't know nor care what happened to Josh Peters and the Missing Boys, the reason for the flood of business. All she cared about was moving the line along.

"Are you going to order or not?!"

The harsh clip in her voice snapped the man in front of her out of his thoughts. His head whipped around to face hers so quickly and stopped in place so suddenly, steely gray eyes piercing through the thick rim of his perfectly round glasses, that the soft hairs on her neck stood straight.

"Yes, actually." His voice was unassumingly gentle, and she strained to hear it over the bustle of the café. "I'd like a decaf soy latte with a caramel drizzle." Raising an eyebrow at the lanky, shabbily dressed man's order, she shrugged and grabbed his cup anyway. "Name?"

"Henry. Henry Lewis."

Oh, there was something here alright. Something dark and cold and nasty. Henry felt it curl up and settle in his gut as soon as he crossed the county line. His heart sped up and so did the car as he was eager to get to his motel and begin investigating. He'd been dying to get to Autumn Woods ever since he first saw the picture of Josh Peters, milky-eyed and white haired after having been dead for only two minutes. It was the most malicious supernatural act he'd ever seen, and he'd seen the corpse of a freshly drained vampire victim; with its wrinkled flesh sagging against the bone, all color drained from its skin and hair.

That's the culprit he'd pegged for this crime at first, vampires, until he'd dug deeper, learned more. Vampires didn't tend to drink from the sick or the weak unless they wanted to be mocked by their brethren. Vampires would also have no reason to inflict that kind of damage on the poor boy. They were simple- sullen, ravenous- yet simple creatures who attacked for sustenance and sustenance alone. Rarely does a vampire lose control and drain its victim completely. With the help of a hacker friend, Henry had been able to get a hold of Josh's medical records. The boy had gone through Hell. Blindness, fever, horrible stabbing pains throughout his body, third-degree burns, and boils that quickly became infected despite the hospital staff's effort; to name a few symptoms.

Vampires didn't use voodoo dolls.

The way Henry saw it, there were one of two solutions to this paranormal query; A) an incredibly resourceful enemy of Josh's managed to get their hands on the necessary items to craft a voodoo doll, or B) Witches.

Witches were rare. Incredibly rare. Harder to find than vampires, than ghosts, than Bigfoot. They lived in small covens of three to five women and usually kept to themselves. The power of the coven depended upon the cumulative power of each individual witch. All the strong magical bloodlines had been hunted out, and their languages died along with them. The few that remained interbred with humans. "Witches" and "Wizards" born today had so little magical blood in their veins that they could scarcely pull off a card trick. There were few, though, that held on to their dead languages and taught their children the ways of the craft in secret. A small, small few.

The other disappearances? Henry didn't have a clue. After first seeing the picture and hearing the news, he'd waited, expecting the bodies to eventually show up. None did. Not even a hair.

'Must be buried deep.'

Henry thought, sipping his latte and watching the blondes who just came in and were waiting for their drinks. He'd noticed them outside the window as soon as they'd stepped around the corner across the street. Today was his third day in Autumn Woods, and so far, he'd received precious little information. The only answer he'd gotten to any of his many questions was who was closest to Josh Peters prior to his death; his ex-fiancée, Claire Brewster. A quick Facebook search showed him her face. Henry was good with faces. The Brewster girl was allegedly an heiress, and now that he thought about it, Henry noticed several businesses boasting the name "Brewster" on his way through the state. Her name, along with the names of three other girls, popped up quite a lot during his talks with the locals. It seemed they were quite popular, though public opinion was quite varied.

Some said they were angels, that they could do no wrong- idiots, Henry decided, blinded by their beauty. And, oh, were they beautiful; young nubile bodies, large wicked eyes, and shiny lustrous hair. Even through the dim screen of his dying laptop, from just the photos they posted on their social media sites, he could tell that they crackled with magic. They must have bewitched everyone in their path.

A handful of Autumn Woods citizens had less than kind things to say about the girls, particularly the grieving families of the missing boys. He learned that Winona Jackson and Amanda Black in the months following the disappearances inexplicably quit their jobs as exotic dancers and moved into Claire Brewster's mansion, along with their longtime friend Lydia Deetz. Prior to this, the girls had been dire enemies. It was all very suspicious.

No one had anything nice to say about Lydia Deetz. Granted, they didn't say anything bad about her either. They seemed to fear her more than anything, which Henry found ridiculous considering her diminutive stature and small frame. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, maybe one hundred pounds. He would have chalked up their fear to small town prejudice- he hadn't seen a single Goth since leaving DC- had it not been for the mention of her husband. Every time Lydia's name came up, somebody had something to say about the handsome, yet intimidating, older man that acted as her shadow. Talk about town was that they'd been married for years, and yet he couldn't find a single picture of the guy on her Facebook. Which wasn't so surprising, it seemed she mostly used the site for professional reasons. The only candid photos were ones she was tagged in. No, what really got to Henry, is that nobody seemed to know his name. He was nobody, a whisper, the only impression he'd left on the town the initial "B." The guy was a ghost.

"So…?"

Claire and Mandy slid into a booth, unaware of the steel eyes watching them just feet away.

"How did it go?"

Mandy crumpled up her straw paper and flicked it in Claire's direction, who did the same in return. "Good… I think…" Mandy sighed, slumping over the table. "I mean, I didn't mess up. There were some great dancers there, some from France and Russia. Do you know how they train ballerinas out there? It's pretty much a lifelong thing. I can't compete with that. I only have eight years of experience." Mandy was fresh back from New York. She was there auditioning for the NYCB, the New York City Ballet, one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the world.

"I don't know why you didn't take B up on his offer to like…" The heiress' eyes narrowed playfully. "Give you the upper hand." Behind her, unseen, Henry's grip tightened around his plastic cup.

"Because I want to get in on merit, not because I have…" Mandy hesitated, considering their crowded surroundings, "connections. And Lydia's with Adam and Barb babysitting Calli all weekend while her parents are in Cancun. She's really been looking forward to that. I wasn't gonna take that away from her so B could help me cheat."

"Ordinarily, I'd turn down babysitting, especially, like, if my parents already had two built-in babysitters, but that is one freakin' cute baby." Neither of them could blame Lydia for wasting her weekend away on the infant.

"Yeah, but anyway, I should be receiving a letter in 2-4 weeks. If I'm accepted, the season starts in June, and I'll need to move there for rehearsals in April." Mandy let out a breath, biting her lip. "It was terrifying dancing next to all those little French girls."

"Like, yeah, whatever. I bet they were scared to be dancing next to you. You're built like a gazelle, you probably jetéd circles around those bitches."

Mandy offered Claire a fleeting smirk, both at the praise and at the girl's use of ballet terminology. "I can leap pretty damn far." She surrendered, sipping her vanilla bean blend.

Claire grinned, "That's more like it! There's no way you- oh!"

Claire, broke off, reaching into her jean pocket for her vibrating cell. It was lit up with a photo of an undeniably gorgeous girl with a mass of curly brown hair that fell to her waist. Several strands were now a lighter, honeyed blonde shade and gleamed under the sunlight. In the picture, she was smiling brilliantly down to someone from a balcony.

"Nona!" The heiress answered, pleased to be hearing from her friend.

Mandy instantly perked up at the mention of the girl's name. "Nona?! Is she okay? Ask about Rome! Tell her she's a slut for not calling me first!"

For the past six months, Nona had been away in Italy, studying architecture abroad. She wasn't scheduled to return for another month. They still saw each other, courtesy of Lydia's husband's magic, but it wasn't the everyday affair that they'd become accustomed to. Still, she needed the time away. Her close call with death reminded her that she wasn't Lydia. She wasn't immortal, and there was still too much of life that she wanted to experience. She couldn't sit around and wait for a married, straight white woman forever. Nona was alive, and it was time to live.

"Buongiorno, bitch!" Her rich voice sang through, twinkling with happiness. "You must get everyone together and come back soon! I've discovered this delicious little gelato shop, you'd absolutely love it, darling." Claire could hear the chattering of voices in the background, and the joke in Nona's voice. She loved to tease Claire with fattening foods.

"Ugh. Mandy says you're a slut for not calling her first, and now I agree with her. How many poor European girls have fallen victim to your raspy English charms, now?"

There was laughter on the other end. "I'm not keeping count, love. I met the most delightfully bendy Danish girl the other day, though. Oh, Claire, if you could have seen the things this girl could do with her tongue-"

"Eeek! Stop!" Claire's face was burning. In many ways, homosexuality was still a very foreign and confusing topic to her. While she didn't have a problem with Nona's escapades, any mention of it flustered her. And Nona knew it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a virgin. Really, we must sit down and watch some lesbian porn one day, just get it out of your system."

A scowl broke through Claire's reddened cheeks. "Did you call for a reason?"

"Tell her to call me next!" Mandy, who had been contentedly sipping her drink, piped up.

"Just to check in on you, my sheltered little rich girl, and to tell you that I miss you-" Nona's voice caught and she spoke again abruptly, "All of you. It's been too long since your last visit, so come see me. And tell that flat-titted twat I'll call her later, I want to hear all about her audition. Ciao!"

"Ciao." Claire bid farewell, tucking the phone back into her pocket.

Henry sat quietly behind them the whole time, his latte long gone. They were witches. No doubt about it. He'd never actually met a witch, just heard about them, but there was no way he could be mistaken in this. They were just too… too… something! The air around them hummed with warmth, even with the October draft that occasionally came gushing through as new customers entered. All attention was centered on them, even if it was subdued. He saw it in sideways glances and longing gazes from afar. They were holed up in a corner, nearly every inch of their skin covered to shield them from the cold, completely held up in their private conversation, and still, all anyone in the room wanted was their attention.

The tall, unassuming, lanky man with thick round glasses stood, unnoticed, from his stool and tossed his empty drink before stepping out into the cold. Lost in thought and fiddling, he accidentally pricked his finger on the necklace of vampire fangs around his neck. The metallic taste of blood sharpened his focus and hurried his steps toward the cheap motel that served as his temporary residence.

There was more investigation to be done yet.